Sweating out confessions (the undone and the divine)
by ibuzoo
Summary: The Lie: It's a one-time thing. The Truth: It was supposed to be just once, not two times, not three times or four or five. Hermione's always the one who starts the subject, always reprimands him, harsh, brutally reminds him, makes him swear that this will be the last time, makes herself swear the same. (she waits to break the promise, again, again)


**Sweating out confessions (the undone and the divine)**

**Prompt: **Struggle

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** modern universe / casual sex that leads to more /

**Word count:** 1420

**Summary: **The Lie: It's a one-time thing.

The Truth: It was supposed to be just once, not two times, not three times or four or five. Hermione's always the one who starts the subject, always reprimands him, harsh, brutally reminds him, makes him swear that this will be the last time, makes herself swear the same.

_(she waits to break the promise, again, again)_

**A/N: **I tried to build this universe in lies they tell themselves, like some facts in their heads and the truths describe their actions that refute the lies.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

_"__I'm telling you a lie in a vicious effort that you will repeat my lie over and over until it becomes true." - Lady Gaga_

**o.**

**The Lie:** Nothing happened.

**The Truth:** Tom's hands are buried in her hair, nearly painfully and Hermione tries to yank at his shirt but then his fingers coil around her neck and his tips press in her skin, right above the pulse. It's harder to breath and she can't help to moan in the kiss, the way his lips bruise and slaughter her own ones until she tastes the blood on the tip of her tongue. It's deadly silent in the room, the heavy breathing of both filling the air and Hermione feels the heat draining the humidified air till it feels desert and constrained, an ashen taste in the back of her mouth. She can't hold on the thought long enough to dwell on it, because Tom's slender fingers drop their arduous grip on her hair and stroke along her waist, slipping right under the hem of her jumper, withdrawing every breath she takes. She closes her eyes and forgets to breathe.

**i.**

**The Lie:** It's a one-time thing.

**The Truth:** It was supposed to be just once, not two times, not three times or four or five. Hermione's always the one who starts the subject, always reprimands him, harsh, brutally reminds him, makes him swear that this will be the last time, makes herself swear the same.

_(she waits to break the promise, again, again)_

**ii.**

**The Lie:** It's just sex.

**The Truth:** Hermione loses count. She doesn't know how many times they already tossed and turned in Tom's bed, how many times he ripped her clothes off, pushed her skirt up to take her on the wall, on the door, on the floor. It doesn't really matter anymore. As soon as his fingers burn her skin with his touches, she's ablaze and burns brighter than a hundred flamethrowers. There's a promise behind every kiss he leaves on her skin, a lurid lurking right under the touch of his fingertips and Hermione follows to whatever he has to offer.

_(it's not just sex anymore, it's more)_

**iii.**

**The Lie: **This will be the last time.

**The Truth: **They lie naked in tangled sheets, the air conditioning trying to cool down the room but the heat collects in drops on their skin, pearls of lust that shimmer red and golden in twilight's fall. Tom's breath brushes her shoulders, consigns goosebumps while his fingers trace the veins on her forearm.

Tom watches as Hermione gets up an hour later, how she dresses in her favorite summer dress that misses the top button _(a reminder of their first summer night, she never found it again)_. He grabs her wrist and spins her around, kisses her deeply, lips that devour and he mouths against her neck, says, "Next time?"

She smiles, nods, "Next time."

And that's it.

**iv.**

**The Lie: **There are no rules.

**The Truth:** They never meet outside of Tom's room - or hers. Meeting outside would mean to unveil the mantle of denial they both wear too well and Hermione wasn't ready to let go, neither was Tom. Their rooms grant them anonymity, safety behind closed doors so they could keep up their roles as soon as they set a foot outside of their sanctums.

They don't speak out of doors, besides their usual literary fights during classes but their eyes speak on a whole other level, speak with the same ardency as their fingers touch and pull and tear.

_(not one of them would break the rules, neither's prepared for it)_

**v.**

**The Lie: **She doesn't like him.

**The Truth:** Hermione sits on the couch beside him, book in her hand while Tom taps on his laptop at the rate of hundred words a minute and she notices how his handsomeness mirrors on his face as if he was sculpted out of marble. But it's not his face she likes the most. It's the way his still wet hair falls slightly in his front, how he pushes it back so it lies perfectly, how he incidentally adjusts his reading glasses and lets his eyes scan his textbooks right beside him, still aware of everything around him, of her.

He doesn't look up, doesn't need to, because her gaze burns holes in his alabaster skin, but he asks nevertheless, "What is it?"

She feels strangely caught, as if she was in the middle of some illegal criminal act and her cheeks flush vividly, a rosy pink so she spins her head back to her book, murmurs a tad too fast, too harsh, "Nothing."

There's no need to look at him again, she can hear his grin in the turning of his pages.

**vi.**

**The Lie:** He doesn't like her.

**The Truth:** Tom doesn't want her to go. He snatches her wrist as soon as she tries to get up, pulls her back against his chest so he can nibble at her delicate skin right under her ear, her pulse beating in a soft rhythm against his lips. He scratches along the vein with his teeth, worshipping the taste in his mouth, ready to bite down any second to rip her skin into shreds, let her bleed out on his freshly washed sheets.

_(instead he kisses her, just a breeze on her neck and lips and perhaps that's what gives him away)_

**vii.**

**The Lie:** It doesn't mean anything.

**The Truth:** Tom presses kisses on her neck and when did it happen that they lost track of their rules, because this is not safe ground, they're right in some deserted classroom that Tom tugged her in and Hermione feels the wooden bench pressing in the little of her back. Her fingers are desperate in his dark hair and she yanks at his strains, brings chaos to the perfection and that's really all this is about. Slender fingers are on her upper tights and a moment later she feels them sneaking under her dress, teasing her skin trough the thin material of her knickers and a moan escapes her lips that he captures with his own, drinks it. His lips trail wet kisses down again until he kneels right before her, mouth leaving unspoken truths in the flesh of her thighs, realities that burn in the back of her mind.

_(when she comes, his name falls from her lips like a prayer for a lover and she knows it means everything at once)_

**viii.**

**The Lie:** She doesn't belong to him.

**The Truth: **Harry's Party is at the top of her agenda and they planned it together already weeks ago, the club is booked, the DJ payed so what could stop her anymore? She's laughing with Ginny but it's strangely stressed and the mobile in her hand weights heavy the longer it stays silent. The silence however doesn't last long because after she survived the first hour, Tom's message feels like relief on her shoulders.

She grabs her bag and leaves without goodbye.

_(she ignores the voice in her head telling her that she's already a part of him) _

**ix.**

**The Lie:** He doesn't belong to her.

**The Truth: **They sit on the couch and her feet rest in his lap, textbooks in their hands and they discuss this never-tiring topic since hours, hissing, grumbling, laughing. Hermione knows that this will end, knows the moment his phone starts to chime and his face darkens that he'll get up and leave and she knows also, that she's not ready to let this end like this. Therefore she extends her hand in a second, grabs his lean fingers in her own and whispers at him, almost mouths, "Stay?"

There's an awful silent moment where her heart misses a beat but than he nods and turns away to finish his call. She breathes out.

**x.**

**The Lie: **They're not in love.

**The Truth: **People read it in their eyes, how they hold each other in glances that linger far too long, how they hide obsession and lust behind dark clouds. People see it in their motions, the way her fingers coil around his when they walk trough university aisles, the way his hand rests on the small of her back. People hear it in their voices, how they talk about each other, how their pitches change as soon as the other one enters the room.

People know.

But they would never tell them.

_(and both would never admit)_


End file.
